A Slice of Life, A Side of Love
by missymoobelle
Summary: Ever dreamt of that perfect pizza delivery guy showing up at your doorstep? Maka can't really sympathize, since he's working at the neighboring cash register, and left her with the one that has the receipt paper jams. Lazy asshole. Pizzeria AU. Cheesy, and you don't know the half of it.
1. Chapter 1

**Ello all! Didja miss my beautiful self? *piano falls on Missy***

**So mama-mia, it's a pizzeria! An AU I concocted at Winco's pizza station (where GlitterGoat made me collapse in the frozen yogurt section with her utter kindness and sparkly love-muffins Cx).**

**Just a sum up of my AU, it's in a huge mall, the Pizzeria is merely one of the many restaurants in its food court. Maka and Soul are finishing up their senior year in HS, I'm pretty repetitive in my universes, blah. **

**I don't own any fancy shit like Soul Eater, brooms, Ellen Degeneres, ****rabid dust bunnies, or Stephen King's literature. Soul Evans was very much harmed in the making of this. So was his piano. *another piano falls on Missy***

***whimpers* As well as his second one...**

**Enjoy~!**

* * *

Maka Albarn was a very frugal girl, or so she liked to think of herself as. After moving out of her Papa's suffocating vice of guardianship and into her own apartment, thanks be to God or some other divine intervention, she learned how to manage her money _very_ well.

This was what she told herself, anyways, after sweeping the grease-sopped dust bunnies at Death Hut's pizzeria for two hours.

Maka sighed as she squared her slouched shoulders, and finished up the last crevices of the still-dirty-but-it'll-fool-the-health-inspector tile floor. She'd only done, what? Swish a broom for a couple of hours, and now she was on the verge of giving up? After a couple months of working here, she should have been doing push-ups from all the lack of exertion by now. Apartment rent wasn't going to pay itself with its _own _minimum wage job, after all. She'd been powering through this fast food, mall-joined hell for so long! What was the matter with her?

It was then that Liz, who was on cashier duty, entered through the double doors leading to the ovens with a swish of her ponytail, and then observed Maka mumble some unnamed curses and slap herself squarely on the cheek. She shook her head, tsking while stealing a can of root beer from the fridge (which Maka noted to be against restaurant regulations).

"Gee Maka, and here I thought you were one of the few here who wasn't a crazy." She took a languid sip from the can, and looked upon it in curiosity. "Patty must be rubbin' off; that or that brat with the spiky hair and bad dye job. Thinks he's a ninja or some shit."

Maka tossed the broom abruptly towards her, causing her new friend to stumble and catch it, some of her drink sloshing out to land on the questionably cleansed floor.

"He wants to be a _god_, first of all. And secondly, no. Liz, I thought I was about to cry."

Liz was walking towards the storage closet, spying for a mop to wipe (translated: smear) her soda up, as she mused, "Why? Did the hunky new pizza twirler turn you down?"

"W-WHAT?! LIZ! I can't even..."

"Oh Maka, chew on some ice, will ya? Your face puts the ovens to shame- take a joke!"

"He's such an asshole, I swear. Just where do you get these ideas?"

"Maybe from the way you two always, and I mean _always_ flirt at the cash registers?"

"Okay, let me tell you now that _flirting _and _threatening to decapitate heads_ are not the same thing. He hogs all the customers, and God knows why they all flock to him."

Liz then bopped her playfully on the head with the handle of the mop, muttering something along the lines of 'just read between the friggin' lines already', while her sister whisked into the room, carrying a boxed pizza in each hand, eagerly joining the conversation. "That's cause Soul is a fine beast, I mean didja look at his pectorals? Whooo-MOMMA~!"

"P-patty!"

"What?" She set the pizzas down on the pick-up counter, and twirled back to properly retaliate to Maka.

"'Jus SAYIN' he prolly works out. With bein the school's coolest bad boy 'n whatnot, why wouldn't he?

Maybe he's into boxing! Or-or martial arts!" She made a cheesy karate pose for effect, Liz and Maka both knowing that if she wanted to, she could throw down with a grizzly and win singlehandedly.

Both sisters for the majority of their childhood lived on the streets, resorting to violence and crime to put food on their non-existent table. As far as they've told her, they've gotten far, and now work here to pay for rent for their own apartment. Maka shouldn't have been as happy as she was when she heard the news, but they lived a hard life, something Maka extremely respected, and she guessed that's why they easily became friends. Liz and Patti for their hard work, and Maka for just being Maka.

"Easy there tiger," Liz bemused, "we know about Mr. Hot-Shot. But what do you suspect he's doin' here, at our humble little Pizzeria?"

Maka left to pick her apron off of the rack of hooks, tying it in a puckered bow before heading out the swinging doors and into cashier duty, before saying, "If _you_ know, would you mind telling me? I can't stand him here, bringing his posse from school, lounging on the job, and distracting ME from earning my weekly sums. If this is some kind of joke, I'll be glad to deliver the PUNCH-line if he doesn't take the hint."

"'Punch'-line? C'mon cupcake, let's not resort to violence here. I believe that's against restaurant policy."

She gave him nothing but a flip of her pigtail and a haughty lift of the chin, as she settled behind the cash register next to him, all the while he gave her a wide smirk with a serrated set of pearly whites, and a glint of something-or-other in his teasing, lidded scarlet eyes. PECULIAR eyes, Maka stubbornly insisted.

"The silent treatment too? What, am I in the doghouse now?"

A mere sniff in response from the cute bookworm who thought blowing up her cheeks was something intimidating._Seriously_, he mused, _who does that? Fucking cupcake and her weirdo quirks._

"Weirdo."

"Hm?" Maka turned at the sound of hushed breath.

"I said your bra is showing. Is that a trainer I see-"

"SOUL EVANS SO HELP ME I WILL RIP YOUR-"

" Hold that thought muffin. Welcome sir to...uh-"

"It's Death Hut genius!"

"I know Liz! Just takin my time, jeez. So you want a pizza or what?"

~O~

It was about 10:30 PM on a Monday night, customers bare and tables bare-er, with the night shift left to disinfect the table tops, shake the tablecloths, and restock the mini sugar and salt packets. The night shift referring to Maka and Soul, of course.

Now, Soul didn't mind working late on a weekday, his passive attitude in all respects of life earning him on-the-edge-of-mediocre grades. Besides, his heater was broken in his apartment, and he wasn't in any hurry to leave work early and freeze himself into a full-body ice cube of a coma. Maka, however, was quite earnest to drop everything and run to the nearest bus stop.

Not only was it a _Monday_ night and the first semester finals were scheduled for next Monday (which to your correct presumption means yes, it is in fact cram week), but Soul Evans was not but two tables away, in low riding basketball shorts and a well-fitted T-shirt, displaying his constant, circling motion of table cleaning with a well-built, olive toned, (and to her knowledge of occasional boxing sessions at the school gym) carefully trained arm.

Soul wanted to change into his street clothes, since no one was coming around this time anyways and he hated starchy uniforms, and their superior Liz saw no reason why he couldn't.

That being, she didn't _see_ how wrong she was like Maka was at that moment. _Seriously_, of all the wardrobes in the world. And just how much did he have to scrub that table? It was taking an eternity, in Maka's opinion. His smart phone was also in a side pocket, dragging the free-flowing shorts down ever so slightly, revealing a modest amount of Joe Boxer's-

CRASH!

"-for FUCK'S SAKE!"

"Woah! What the hell was that? Albarn?"

"Aw jeez, now I need a- where the hell did Patty hide the broom this time?"

Maka threw the tablecloth she mindlessly tore from an entirely set table like a crummy magician at his first street performance to the side, and quickly hurried to the kitchen, her flush hidden under low restaurant night-lighting.

Just what in the world was her mind wandering off to? It was just Soul, just Evans! He'd only shared classes with her since ninth grade, and she was seventeen now, Soul but one year older. She knew for a fact that he was still the same egotistical, lazy punk who drooled when he fell asleep in chemistry; he hadn't changed in years.

So...it must have just been her. Maka couldn't think of any other explanation. At least she left before the heat in her cheeks spread to other...ahem, _places_. After all, Evans _did_ have a nice body, and her body was experiencing major chemical changes; mammary gland growth, sexual drive, chocolate dipped pickle cravings. It was a natural chain of reactions, nothing to sweat over. If it ever got too serious, she could just dive into her Papa's embarrassing and disgusting dildo collection at home, supposedly a secret under the floorboards in his closet. There were plenty unopened packages, and a wide range of tastes to explore from, not to mention colors-

"ACK-!"

Well, it looked like Patti had decided to lay the broom on top of the shelves on each side of the supply closet doorway, causing Maka to luckily dodge a beheading, but settle for a choking collision, the broom flying onto the other side of the closet and her clutching her sore neck, the area flushing for a less hormonal-driven reason. She supposed this was what she got for letting her mind stray to the gutter like some mangy ally-cat without a home.

"Yo Maka! You okay?"

Soul strode in in all his testosterone, leather and mint scented glory, white eyebrows creased at a girl in pigtails and custom, frilly white apron choking herself in a tornado-struck closet.

This _woman_.

He silently picked up the broom, took her by the bow of the apron, and dragged the two out to the train wreck caused only minutes ago. While Maka voiced her opinions of pushy, impatient shark monsters with her colorful vocabulary, Soul acknowledged her by leaving the very second they arrived at the spill site and returning shortly with a dustpan. Kneeling on the ground, he began to pick up the shards of a broken glass salt shaker, and let them plunk into the plastic container.

Maka was at a loss for words. Didn't _she _cause this? Why would he help her clean up an easily avoidable mess when he could just leave at his whim, pride and muscle shirt a blur as he walked out the mall entrance?

"This isn't pre-paid television, cupcake. Grab the broom." Soul pointed out, though he didn't have to look up from the heinous 80's carpet to know that she wasn't doing jack shit besides standing like a useless lamppost.

"Err...right."

Maka swept the sugar, salt, and other grainy food dressings into miniature sand dunes, making a note to bring a portable vacuum to work for future purposes. She also decided to look over the fact that he immediately took the most hazardous task, being picking up sharp glass shards without say. Maka moved the dunes together to become a desert of white and lint balls.

In her mind she mulled over her crappy day, school overbearing and her homework nowhere near completed, since the late-night shift was rudely thrust into her schedule. Finals where but less than seven days away, and her Papa would most likely throw a horrid man-baby fit knowing she was working herself to the bone like this. Honors student, school sport, and part-time job didn't always go well together, but it was necessary for them to be grouped now and then, considering her financial position was nothing worth bragging about.

So it didn't help in the _least_ when a bedroom-eyed asshole who liked low riding plaid boxers and smooth jazz on max volume with crappy ear buds distracted her like a child to a bubblegum machine, because really now. She'd been around him for years, not necessarily his friend, a sort-of acquaintance if you will. That is, if sort-of acquaintances had acid-spitting staring contents across their chemistry class.

But because of these variables whirring about her head like noisy mosquitoes on a sugar-high, Maka decided to pull a Houdini with a pizzeria's tablecloth, and there she was now.

As she looked down, her sugar dunes had disappeared, and Soul was seen at a nearby trashcan, dumping the tiny desert and sneezing when a cloud of dust rose from his actions.

Maka needed to get ahold of herself. Was she even awake at the moment? Well, she must have been, because she was being led by her shoulders by two firm hands to a booth, where she gladly sat down, and finally realized how tired she was right then. The weight off of her feet felt nice, and she was about to rest them on the opposite seat until Soul plopped right at their designated spot.

"So," he droned as his face fell into the palm of his hand, propped by an elbow as his head quirked to the side, "want to tell me why you're acting like a complete wacko?"

Maka groaned at the loss of her footstool, and held her head in her hands. "Who wants to know?"

"I don't know, probably the person sitting right fucking in front of you."

She didn't respond.

"I mean- err...Fuck it."

Soul somewhat straightened up from his slouch and ruffled his pale bed head roughly, trying to piece his sentence together carefully. This woman was known to be overly sensitive and equally violent, and he didn't want to take his chances while she was groggy too.

"You've been looking like horse shit lately-"(and after a grunt when her boot connected itself with his kneecap)"-and don't you dare deny that! Your eyes are blood shot, you yawn every other minute of the day, have you been getting any sleep?"

"In homeroom...I...think."

"Maka, hey! C'mon, don't bail out on me here. Just, pick your head up pigtails."

She raised her head slowly, blinking away the irritation of his loud voice. God, didn't he know what time it was?

"Yeah, that's better." He smirked, but his raised lips quickly fell at the sheer exhaustion written across her face, how three AM study sessions worked their way into her health, how her loosened off-crème hair draped coquettishly over her cheek, how her eyelashes were a matching blonde. Blonde and curved.

"It's just that..." Soul blinked along with her once, twice. Was she seeing him like this, shadowed under hanging golden lamplight too? "...You should take better care of yourself. How am I gonna look when my partner falls asleep on the job? Not cool, Maka."

Alas, dear Maka had already given into the persistent lull of sleep, her folded arms a makeshift pillow and her bangs slowly rising and falling with her warm breath. Soul internally ran off a cliff on his bike. Of all fucking times to knock out, cupcake.

He supposed it was for the best, if she wasn't in a half comatose state this whole time, he would've been chopped for being some sort of sick pervert. Who stared at girls in their sleep anyways? Especially a-cup, five foot girls who had cute back dimples that showed when they played their volleyball tournaments?

Biting back a blush (which in hindsight wasn't a good idea with choppers that put Jaws to shame), Soul wordlessly picked both her feet up and settled them on his lap as Maka let out a sigh of sleepy content. Smiling at her unconscious reaction, he pulled out his phone and dialed Liz, tapping his finger on the seat to the rings of the call.

"Yeah, hey Liz? Maka-"

...

"Yep."

...

"Well, how the shit was I supposed to know?"

...

"NO! I didn't, you old prude."

...

"No."

...

"No."

...

"Thompson, I swear to God, not ONE word about this. Just get over here and pick up your hibernating bear."

Maka snorted slightly at that, and Soul couldn't help but laugh at a confused Liz right in the middle of her currently interrupted Pretty Little Liars marathon. He jiggled his knee and watched her move with it as well, just to rouse her kitten-like irritability even further.

"Damn, she's dangerous when out-cold too."

~O~

"Soul~! Come on, tell us!"

"Yeah, why are you working here at the mall all of the sudden?"

" 'Cause I felt like it."

"Wow! You're just the spur of the moment type of guy, huh?"

"That's so COOL~!"

"But why at Death Hut of all places-"

"Oi Maka, how ya doin' back there?"

"Just _peachy_."

The echo of dirty water in a janitor's pail fell deaf to the continuing chatter of the sophomore hoard of estrogen crowding about register two, otherwise known as Soul's current shift. Didn't they know they were holding up the non-existent line behind them?! Maka kicked the bucket even harder, causing it to tip into an anticlimactic spill, and reach into the far crevices of the underside of the refrigerator.

"So, you like basketball don't you Soul?"

"I've seen you play a couple times!"

"What?! No fair~!"

"Erm...did I just hear a- OI! Hands behind the counter."

A series of giggles ensued, and Maka cursed as she embraced the tiled floor to watch her hand disappear into the darkness of the fridge's under-vents and grease caverns. Her one paper towel quickly was caught by a sticky unnamable substance, and as she retracted her hand at the touch of something furry and wet, she thought of rabid dust-bunnies and over-priced floral perfume.

Stupid post-school rush hour.

It wasn't all that surprising, Maka had to admit. Soul _was_ extremely popular at their high school, though acting quite the opposite of a typical social butterfly. Her friend Tsubaki occasionally talked of how her boyfriend and him played only one-on-one basketball matches, saying that he really needed to branch out in his social life more often. When Maka would walk to school, she would hear the roar of a Road King speed past her in a blur of leather and solitude. Of course he chose the one ride that best suited one person. Last time Maka checked, snarky, ill-tempered numb-nuts who could crack the most stubborn of jawbreakers with their bear-trap of a jaw weren't exactly fit to "rule the school".

But judging by the way he didn't focus on the mob of tissue padded push-up's (you should know which kind we're talking about here) and openly pierced belly buttons, but at the flat screen across the mall isle broadcasting reruns of the Ellen Degeneres show, Maka deduced that he didn't really give two shits. One girl pulled up her low collar, head bowing in humility.

"Well, bye Soul!"

"Yeah! Erm, see you-"

"Uh, Welcome to Death Hut! What would you like to order? Sir. Hey Liz, was that ok? Or do I have to say some other load of customer service bullshi- OW!"

"Uhm. We..okay then! Bye..."

"Bye."

And thus the pack of trotting hussies shamefully made their way towards another restaurant, and Maka barely managed to cartwheel in joy, cause _damn_, a piece of toilet paper was still sticking out of that girl's left cup.

Instead, she managed to bang her head under the sink next to the fridge, and doing so knocked enough sense into her that she _shouldn't_ have been happy that Soul got annoyed by a group of perfectly pretty and desperate girls, that he turned them down, or that he'd rather spend his shift looking back at her while handing the previously mentioned customer his combination slice and coke, a slight smile lifting his face and making Maka almost fall down a second time. The floor would officially never stay clean at_this_ rate.

"W-what?!"

"Thought I heard a baseball cracking a wooden bat, but turns out it was just your head and hard metal."

"You're lucky this floor's slippery or else I'd-"

"Sorry."

"-rip you limb...from...limb?"

Her threat veered off into a question, as she blinked in complete confusion when Soul walked over, dropped to his knees, and pulled out a rag from his apron's pocket to help her absorb the puddle of dirty mop water. _Her_ puddle of dirty mop water. He wouldn't look up from his own reflection when he spoke again.

"Yeah, about what just happened... They're always followin' me, watching me do every little damn _thing_, it's so not cool."

His words came rushed at some points, slow and thoughtful at others. Maka couldn't take her eyes off of his glued down to the floor. This was the first time she heard sincerity from his deep, rumbling voice. It was just a dumb flock of tenth graders, Maka wasn't _that_ mad. But, he looked so embarrassed and disappointed with himself; how was _this _the stone-eyed jerk she had third period with? Did he talk with his few friends like this too? Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped he did.

It was nice.

"-ullshit. And I came here to get away from all that, too! It's just, everyone's so needy. Last I heard, I'm dating five girls at the same time. I mean, REALLY? I haven't left my house in five DAYS, how am I gonna get five GIRLS to screw me?!"

Oh, was he secretly a rambler? Maka mused with the idea of a shark reciting tongue twisters while she watched his scrubbing keep in time with his apology/speech/biography.

"-but ever since I've come here," He cleared his throat anxiously, while Maka lifted a blonde brow in question. "Well, you've all been really cool. I can just relax, and do what I wanna do, and not look over my shoulder for God knows what."

"You know, you're not getting paid to sit on your ass and enjoy some Ellen with a side of Sprite."

"While I can still argue with that- (Maka pinched his arm in response)- it's nice here. And... 'msorry you had to see that mess."

He threw the sopped towel in the sink overhead, and finally looked up into Maka's wide, radiant smile. He opened his mouth, but no biting humor came out, just a short release of breath at her crinkled jade eyes.

"Well, you're not so bad yourself." She stood up, leaving soul still sitting like a dog in a daydream, and patted dust from her uniform pants. "And thanks. Nice to know you have a heart once in a while."

Maka walked to register two, taking over his shift wordlessly, and Soul found enough pride to pick up off the floor to get up and proclaim into the loudspeaker at full blast, at the utterly packed food court: "Thanks, tiny tits! But I don't think I can return these sudden feelings of yours; I'm flattered, though!"

Soul couldn't tell which was redder. The laughing faces of the customers, Maka's cheeks as well as the descent of it down her neck to her collarbone, or the lump on his head courtesy of Maka and Stephen King's hardback cover of "It".

* * *

**R&R? To invest in Soul's new piano? ;3;**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two is here! Please forgive me for slow updates, school is getting in the way of my everything. But to explain some things here Maka is on the school volleyball team, I mean, doesn't she seem like the leggy type? And Soul may or may not box (like, Rocky IV kind of box) in his spare time. He also knows how to ballroom dance. What a guy~**

**Anywhore, PLEASE R&R, it's what keeps me writing! TwT**

**I know that you know that I know that I don't own Pizza Hut or manholes or Frank Sinatra. You know.**

**Enjoy~!**

* * *

Swinging back the jumbo kitchen door, Maka bit into her apple heartily in greeting as Liz simply nodded and Patti threw some flour in her general direction, the two making their new dough supply.

"Sorry for the wait!" she began, wiping the white powder from her cheek. "Practice ended up longer than I expected. Some punk decided it would be _funny_ to take one of our nets and tie the two exit door handles shut from the outside. We're lucky the soccer team was passing through, or else nobody would have come to help us!"

Liz rolled her eyes at the juvenile prank while wiping her powdery hands on her apron, afterwards walking up to Maka an d laying one hand on her dainty shoulder.

"I swear Maka, the things kids do these days. You definitely have my sympathies; I wouldn't know what it's like to live amongst your sad generation."

"Liz, you're two years older than me."

"Regardless."

Patti hollered out a series of laughs while as she applied pepperonis to the white dough, conveniently shaped into a giraffe, the circles of meat substituting as its spots. "You guys are a hoot, a HOOT I'm tellin' ya!" She giggled out. "Sis, didja take a good look at Maka's little outfit? Huh?"

The older Thompson blinked in realization that she did _not_, so she turned to set the high-schooler a distance of two feet away, her hands set firmly on her shoulders. After an excruciating seven seconds, Liz squealed in a frequency only heard by giant squids at the bottom of an ocean trench. Did she _really_ just spy a cutesy volleyball uniform?

"Albarn! Holy shit, do you even KNOW what you're wearing?!"

"And just what is that supposed to mean?!"

"What it friggin _means_ is that you. Are wearing. Bootyshorts! Spandex ones, not to mention! God, sign ME up for next volleyball season."

"Oh...well, the uniform is comfortable I guess."

"Comfortable? Just comfortable? Honey, you look good enough to turn a couple straights sideways."

She reddened on sight at the...compliment, she presumed?

"Oh, don't give me that look Maka! You should know by now you have an ass and a set of legs to die for. But did you seriously walk through the mall with THAT number on?"

"Well, yeah. My change of clothes is the Death Hut uniform, and I don't think I can wear that around, or else I'll end up getting accused for cutting. Why'd you ask?"

Liz shook her head with a smirk, also noticing how Maka's high ponytail was coming a little undone, a teasing amount of neck showing behind its curtain of wheat blonde hair. "Cause-"

"Cause with your ass on display like a steaming, seasoned chicken, boys were prolly droolin' all over the place!" Patti finished with an enthusiastic titter of laughter.

Maka looked at her clothes with an embarrassed blush. Had she really been dressed so promiscuously? She eyed her black shorts, noticing how they barely reached over the swell of her butt, and her white striped knee socks that reached cheekily to the top of her calves. Her blouse was modest enough, with no sleeves and a v-neck cut, matching with the shorts in blackness and a logo of the school on the front, a single goofy-looking skull staring into oblivion. Let Maka tell you right now, her chest was nothing to brag about. Barely scraping into the B-cups was something she preferred to keep to herself, and she always thought the blouse she was wearing made her little problem more pronounced than necessary.

Sensing her distress, Liz followed Maka's line of vision until she came eye to eye with a miniature bosom and above it an indignant pout. Liz blew a stray hair from her face in frustration, the other girl looking up in question. She took both of Maka's hands in hers, thumbing her digits soothingly.

"Maka, if you haven't noticed by now, let me be the first to tell you that a small chest isn't_ a bad thing_."

Maka creased her brows in disbelief, but still allowing her to hold her hands in their friendly embrace.

"Look, you think big tits are what all guys want? Not the case, girlie. It's all about how you use the attributes you were given, not what you start out with!"

"Still Liz, no high school senior should be able to fit into her ninth grade bra."

"Even so. You know, some guys have a thing for teen boppers! Some sort of ripe, perky fetish."

"Oh yeah, then who?"

"Oi, who the fuck put wet dough in my apron pocket?!"

"Hehehehe~"

"Goddammit Patti, if you couldn't run me over like a sixteen wheeler I would-"

"Sowwy Soulie! I've got register duty now~"

"Hey, don't just go and- THOMPSON! Shit."

A heavy silence soon followed, leaving the room in a tense battle of 'who wants to start the first awkward conversation?'

"...you were saying, Maka?"

"JUST HOW WAS THAT THE ANSWER TO MY QUESTION ELIZABETH?"

"Oi pigtails, you trying to talk to China or somethin'?" Soul turned to face her as he blindly continued. "What the hell is your problem now? Did you max out your library card again, cause- JESUS FUCK!"

His red eyes widened noticeably, and the usual dull red was lit aflame in shock and something else Maka couldn't place. She titled her head in reply, unsure of what gave him such a shock. Liz snickered evilly in the background.

"Albarn, are you aware of what you're_wearing_? Did Star swap your clothes again or...Jesus fuck."

"Havin' trouble talkin' Eater? Is something..._distracting_ you today~?"

Soul muttered a "shuddup Liz" and averted his eyes to the ceiling, trying to gain back his totally broken cool as he mussed his white hair into something even messier than before. No matter how much he stared into the paneling, he still couldn't get those big green eyes and fidgeting ivory legs out of his psyche. Did she seriously have to wear striped knee socks, the ones he bought for her wordlessly on her birthday because he ran out of gift ideas? Why did that make him blush harder and mess up his hair further?

"You guys are off your rockers today. I'm going to change out of these, the stink from my sweat is starting to make my eyes water, and I'm sure that's why I got so much attention. Geez Liz! You could've told me I smelled like a wet gym sock in a nice way."

And thus Soul realized Maka was as dense as led and sighed in relief (wait, why was he sighing?) and Liz internally combusted from two idiots unable to read between the lines of their own strange relationship. They had been so close! Maka was in short shorts and her skin glossy from exercising, and Soul was at a loss for snarky, mood-killing comebacks; goddamn that girl and her asexual brain, always over-analyzing things!

"I guess I'll have to resort to more draconian methods..."

"Didn't catch that Liz, what did ya say?"

"Oh! I uh, just got news Patti got her head trapped in a manhole again!"

"Holy shit-"

"So yeah, gotta buy chicken fat to slide that sucker out! You can take my late shift, right Soul?"

"I...err..."

"WOW, that's a weight off MY chest!" She put a hand to her heart in mock appreciation. "So see you later! Bye!"

The employee double doors opened before he knew it, and the elder Thompson was gone with a swish of the rubber air conservers on the tile floor. Soul closed his eyes in aggravation, tapping a finger irately on the metal sink he was now leaning against to an unknown and erratic beat. He was about to check in and ask for the day off; he and Star had a basketball match to settle, Black*Star betting that he could cream him on-one-on one by as many points as days he skipped working at Death Hut. Even Soul had to sit back and appreciate all the hookies his oldest friend made, forty-seven points was quite lot to win by. Damn idiot bailed out on the job that was supposed to be their "bro time".

Now he had to break it to the blue (yes, he dyed it electric blue on a bet. Go fucking figure) monkey and call off their match.

Before he even slid his hand into his jeans pocket Maka re-entered the kitchen, clad in her usual frilled apron over a collared tee and slacks, and a neat ponytail in place of her previously messier one. It was almost hard to imagine those endless legs and striped socks were just beyond two mere plain pant legs. Had she always had those, or were they courtesy of her volleyball training? Soul found himself eager to find out.

When he looked at her, Maka appeared to be giggling to herself, and when he inquired with a silver brow raised, she fingered her ponytail in fondness.

"Did you check the oven? I saw a giraffe shaped pizza! I mean, wow! Patti sure outdid herself."

He smiled in return, liking the relaxed aura she emitted, the one she never got around to sharing. "Thought our dough shortage was a little weird. Must've all gone to that bastard's neck."

"I guess...Hey, where did Liz go?"

"Oh, she uh..." He didn't want to think about sewer systems and raw chicken at the moment, or ever actually, so he summarized. "Patti business."

Maka could empathize. The cringe on her face was mirrored by his, though hers lacked a certain serrated edge.

"Yeesh. Poor Liz..."

"You're tellin' me. Anyways-" Soul yawned and lazily stretched, Maka pointedly ignoring how he chose to skip the uniform for today and simply put on an apron over another tee-shirt and low riding basketball shorts ensemble, and how his neck deliciously contracted and relaxed, "you and I are stuck here till eight, and it's the slowest day of the week."

"Oh…" Maka started to make her way to the cash registers, keeping her eyes on her shoes and not his chiseled collarbone. "Alright. So are we going to just-"

A sudden drumbeat cut her off without further ado, and seconds later the smooth voice of Frank Sinatra filled the near empty mall, whatever persons still lingering on a boring Wednesday night not minding the sudden music. Maka, on the other hand, _did _give a damn about the instant background music, and soon found Soul hooking his iHome to an outlet by the back counter, drawing out a playful flute and deep bass strums accompanying "Fly Me to the Moon."

His strange and insistent smile along with the savory steam of a pepperoni giraffe in the oven caused miniature flutters behind her otherwise steady green gaze, and Soul strode in time with the beats of smooth jazz to meet her eyes.

"Thought this place needed some life."

"So you brought a DJ system in your backpack."

"It's a charging station with_ speakers_, smart guy. Plus, now you get to dance to some quality music."

"Dance? Soul, are you serious-?"

"Why else would I have brought my baby out of the safety of my room? Friggin YES, Maka, I'm serious."

She fidgeted and tried to level herself. Why did he have to do weird quirky things like these? She preferred it when it was easy to call out on his asshole-ery.

"But I don't know _how_ to-!"

"I can teach you as we go along. After all, you're a pretty fast learner, muffin."

"I told you to stop calling me confectionary snacks, and _still_! Maybe I should-"

"Come 'ere. Frank isn't doing encores tonight."

"SOOOOUUUUUUL!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Do you guys hate me yet?! :D Sorry for the long winded updates, I'm horrible with homework/fanfiction time management. But please stick around! This story is just about to thicken:**

**•Why did Soul give Maka those volleyball socks when he clearly didn't know her that well before, AND on her birthday?**

**•Does Maka _really_ hate Star? And why?**

**•Where are their PARENTS in this?**

**Stick around, I'm begging you! ;w; Just trying to actually form a semi-decent plot, and it's time consuming~ **

**ALSO: I HIGHLY recommend you listen to the song "Mrs. Jones" by Billy Paul during the second sequence of Soul and Maka's dance. For the atmosphere, YA KNOW.**

**SO TELL ME JURR THOUGHTS, WAIT SOM MOAR, and lastly—**

**Enjoy~!**

* * *

Spinning her as if she weighed nothing (which in hindsight she probably did), Soul pulled Maka towards his body and stepped to and fro, slinking along with the beat of the music with a grace his partner was surprised he possessed. The faint murmur of the near-empty mall was washed out by smooth jazz and Frank's strong, carefree voice, passing shoppers gazing tenderly at the sight of two teenagers' ballroom dancing during a break. The music wasn't unbearable, lacking the screaming and cursing the older audience normally assumed the younger generation usually listened to, so there was no complaint to their personal radio station. Rather, they urged the duo to continue in their refreshing display of affection. Soul silently thanked them _and_ the pep rally that was being held after school, luckily stalling their peer population from any more disastrous double-life as a "Pizza Boy" encounters.

It also struck him that Maka's smaller (and _much_ softer than previously imagined) hands that were being held by his were oddly stiff. Come to think of it, her whole body screamed_uncomfortable_. Looking down, he saw her head bent towards the floor and a slight flush rising on the tips of her ears. He leaned it just a bit, and could finally hear timid breaths being carefully measured. No way, he thought. No freakin' WAY.

"Albarn's got two left feet, doesn't she?"

"What? I so do NOT–"

And that was all the distraction needed for Maka to lose her footing and righteously step on Soul's unsuspecting big toe.

"–SHITFACE." He grit out, wary of not crushing her palms, if not for the sake of his skull's wholesomeness.

"Well maybe if you didn't distract me, I wouldn't have done it!"

"Hate to burst your bubble sweetheart, but you have the lifelessness of a mannequin right now. I don't think my comment had anything to do with it."

"Do you ever stop sounding so condescending? Or is that hereditary?"

"It takes one to know one, I guess."

"Ugh, you jerk."

"No, _you're_ the one jerking here. Just take fluid steps, and stop being so abrupt when you dance."

"Can we just drop this already? Jesus, it's like trying to argue with a mule!" Maka fumed as she turned her head down once again.

Soul didn't have the chance to butt heads with her again, because he noticed her ears were burning a red much brighter than last time. Her breathing didn't improve much either, shallow breaths puffing about his collarbone serving as a distraction to his temper.

He didn't think embarrassment was a word in Maka Albarn's extensive vocabulary, but then again, until he saw her in her volleyball uniform just hours before he thought that her plaid mini-skirts were the shortest piece of clothing in all of mankind. Soul's gut wasn't always an instinct to be trusted, his brain usually the more reliable of the two primal senses.

In other words, Soul deduced that Maka was being shy.

SHY.

Soul let out a chortle by accident.

"What?! Just WHAT'S so funny about this Soul?"

Oh, you know. _Maka Albarn_ being reduced to a stuttering puddle of self-consciousness and goop. It was downright hilarious; out of all things, dancing was the one she could never understand? Was that it?

"You know, your creepy smile isn't exactly my answer of choice. Stop it already! It's weird to see anything not resembling a frown on your face!"

"Kinda nice, actually."

"Huh?"

Slowly turning them around before they hit a wall, he resumed his simple strides that she struggled to follow, Maka patiently waiting for his strung-out explanation. Her hand was still a tight ball in his relaxed palm.

"Well, with you being the brainiac and all, it's a bit relieving knowing that you're not the best at everything. Makes you seem a little more human."

She blinked once, and bluntly stated, "Of course I'm _human_, Soul."

"I mean–" he looked at the ceiling, a silent prayer to God that his words could be translated to Maka-speak for once. "Everything you do is perfect. 105 percent for every paper, two pluses after each 'A', that deal. Just seeing you suck at something is refreshing."

"EXCUSE me? I do not get that on everything–"

A bland look from Soul and his red eyes practically rolling themselves shut her up.

"...Alright. So what if I have a 5.0? It's just memorizing what they teach you in the books and class."

"Yeah, easy for Poindexter to say. What do you have, a photographic memory or something?"

"Uhm, yes."

"No."

"I do."

"_Woman_."

"You asked, so don't get all huffy with me, jerk!"

"I swear, just when it couldn't get more unbelievable. What? Can you shoot lasers out of your eyes too?"

"NO, it's just that I don't get why this is such a big problem, because _you're_ the one who everyone thinks is flawless!"

"So what, are we some sort of sitcom now?"

Soul chuckled deeply at her less-than-amused expression. "Looks like."

"I just _adore_ your expansive vo–CAAABulary-!"

And thus Maka Albarn was spontaneously lifted by one shark-jerk with the most confident smirk any self-presumptuous man could offer into the air and was plainly settled on one of the outer food court's table tops. The other party soon joined her on the new elevation, and began to waltz with a renewed vigor, much to her blatant surprise (and admitted admiration).

Sweet flutterings of flutes and Mr. Sinatra had abruptly changed into a saxophone lazily wrapping around a smooth melody, which actually reminded her of Soul himself. Laid back, low, and easy going. He actually got her to relax her stiff back, for she was now doing better for matching his slinky, long-legged strides across table counters. But before she could think about an oversized saxophone wearing a white wig and cartoon-ish droopy red eyes, not to mention they were dancing on the food court tables _while on the job_for God's sake, the first line of the song interrupted her just in time to execute the mood-killer.

"_Me and Missus Joness_~

_We got a thing~, goin' on_~."

Was it possible to turn so red you looked purple? Then consider Maka an eggplant, because she might as well have been one out on the vegetable isle. Did this man have to possess all of the world's classic love songs in one convenient playlist?

"Was this on purpose? Are we being recorded, by Black*Star and Killik? This_has_ to be some sort of sick prank."

"Geez muffin, what's so funny about giving you proper music lessons? I thought I was being chivalrous here."

"On the greasy table tops of Death City's mega mall food court?"

Way to hit it home, Maka.

"Whatever." He brushed off the minor offset with a toss of his unruly hair, which, when brushed against Maka's forehead, she found out to be softer than made out to be. "We have all the perfect atmosphere we need."

"Is that so?" She drawled out.

" 'Course. You got yourself and an extra cool guy like me next to you. I think that's plenty atmosphere."

This time, they did not break eye contact, and could clearly read each other's mutual bashfulness and curiosity in a clash of red and green. Soul mused about complimentary colors and spring clovers on fire, as well as how Maka never once mis-stepped on his feet this song.

"_We meet every day, at the same cafe_~.

_Six-thirty— I know she'll be in_."

They were floating across the table tops as if gravity heeled to their sole concentration on each other. Soul inwardly sighed as the spitfire allowed herself to become lax in his embrace. Though Maka had never taken a dance class in her life, Soul's mellow lead led her faithfully, and she couldn't find herself feeling weak or less-superior as they not-so-obliviously intertwined their fingers. Soul was not a man (okay, he IS a fine one, but still.) and Maka was not a woman; they were partners, pushing and pulling, giving and taking weight, gliding over used napkins and spilt Diet Coke.

Though it sounded silly, it felt like a sort of soul resonance from within them, even if it was over someone's abandoned lunch.

"I like your apron."

"It was my dead grandmother's, Soul."

"That's not really cool...but still like the ruffles on you."

And for the second time in Soul "Eater" Evans' life, he was witness to another galaxy-rearranging, starlit smile of Maka's.

"_Me~ and~ __**Missus**_—"

"Thanks, Soul."

"_**Missus Jones**_—~!"

~O~

"This is stupid."

"No Soul, do you know what's _REALLY_ stupid?"

He groaned in reply, fully aware of what she would haughtily say, something along the lines of—

"It's because YOU hang out with that jerk Black*Star and _YOU_ have to get dragged into whatever he has cooked up in his shrunken– oof!–head!"

And perhaps her petite form caused her anger to swelter to a higher degree, the deli meats put on an impossibly high shelf and the tippy-toes method proving more degrading than helpful. A couple of ten year olds with Spider-Man shoes and PSP's on hand strode by snickering at the entire scene, and cowered when they finally caught Soul's fearsome snarl. He guessed sharp teeth were good for something other than travel-can-opening after all.

" I mean come on, taking the blame for eating all of our pepperoni supply?" Maka continued. "Who else has the equivalent of a black hole for a stomach besides him?"

"You're saying it like you're the one who took the framing." Palming a jar of pizza sauce with a dancing tomato on the front cover, he decided that he officially hated Winco. " 'Snot like I asked you to come."

She did not dignify his comment with a response, instead choosing to jump her way up to the top shelf pepperoni packages. Surely they couldn't stay there forever, she would get them down somehow goddammit!

Earlier that day, Maka had come into their afternoon shift on Saturday, in a fairly happy mood seeing as her stay was during Soul's hours as the double doors to the kitchen swung open. However, she was not the one to open them; a wide-eyed Black*Star nearly toppled her over with the force of their swing, a pepperoni sausage dangling from his mouth and a dozen others stashed inside his shirt.

Too shell-shocked to stop him in his tracks, the boy made a run for the packed food court mob, too crowded and distracted by mass production and corn dogs to notice the bright blue blur wreaking of deli meat and laughing to the high heavens. Her hand was mid-paused in its unsuccessful reach for the door handle as she peered inside the kitchen to see whatever damage or evidence the idiot could have left.

All that she found was an empty freezer and a paling Soul who looked at Maka as if staring into the eyes of an executioner who was holding the basket for his soon-to-be rolling head.

On cue, their manager (whom was given the friendlier nickname of 'Kidd') stepped in for a surprise inspection, only to find his fridge half full and kitchen doors still swinging.

Let's just say there might have been some minor conniptions about the perfect symmetry of the kitchen being ruined, threats of pink slips and waking up tomorrow underwater, and a lot of persuading on Maka's behalf. Luckily, the pigtailed wonder managed to plug her boss's anxiety nosebleed up with some tissue and arrange a make-up shopping trip with Soul in one day. Lord bless this woman.

"Soul, get your lazy butt over here and help me already!"

Or damn her. Whichever works.

In Maka's defense, it was stupid logic. A drop-out like Black*Star was nothing but a weight on anybody's shoulders; he was a slacker, and what he did do in pride and exuberance was entirely self centered and conceited, most likely concerning his god-like status among the mere mortals of his high school class. And to steal store property just because he was an employee– who NEVER came to work! Kidd was about to drop his high and mighty butt if Soul hadn't vouched for him on multiple equations.

Now it was _Soul_ who got the rotten end of the bargain, being framed for his "best friend's" crime. During this whole time, just what did he do to protect his good name?

Nothing. Zip. He took the heat for that blue haired orangutan, for no good reason! How could someone take advantage of such kindness, from the laziest man on the planet?! Either the meaning of the term "friends" has changed without Maka's vast knowledge having the time to swallow it up or he must really _see_ something in that boy that she is missing, because Maka can't wrap her head around it. To her, he was looking with closed eyes.

This was something so strange, so foreign to her; Soul "Eater" Evans, taking responsibility for his lost cause of a 'bro', biting his tongue when she danced with drunken grace, always wiping up figuratively AND literally whatever mess she made. Was she not rolling her eyes at his plain existence three weeks before? His noisy motorcycle, sagging basketball shorts, etcetera etcetera?

Perhaps, she entertained, for it was nonsense really, that it was **her** with her eyes unopened.

Because his eyes had never looked so _red_, so _burning_, and full of curiosity.

Full of something she saw in her.

It was a shock to Maka when as soon as she uttered the last of her demand for service while simultaneously arguing with herself (or was it a confession?), there was a lean chest pressed against her back and a strong chin on the crown of her head muttering about fat ankled nerds, as if their major height difference wasn't enough to chide about. She noted how he didn't notice the way he caged her into the freezer shelves as he reached over her to grab at the pepperoni slabs, seemingly blind and totally unlike the all-knowing, hyper aware waltzer she floated over the cafeteria with a few days before. From what Maka could feel (since he was making them an awkward human sandwich after all) Soul's pectorals WERE in fact well-kept, just as Patti had proclaimed. As well as his triceps, and thighs, and—

Oh. He's moving down the isle now.

"Oi Maka, keep up! Or would you like to stare at the pork chops a bit longer?"

"Yeah yeah, keep on smirking like that Evans, you'll see how far it'll get you."

But he wasn't smirking at all. Soul was smiling, though two rows of serrated teeth gave it a little of a morbid touch, she could tell it was sincere. And he continued to smile as she hid her own by stalking ahead of him once again, also overhearing her hum Missus Jones unconsciously as she threw in a couple bottles of pizza sauce.

* * *

**R&R? For the Pepperoni funds?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Those of you who actually listen to Vocaloid and enjoy it will definitely like this chapter. Because Vocaloid is the shit ****and I was listening to Rin and Len Kagamine's _Dark Vow._ Such a great song and story, and I wanted to include it in this chapter.**

**Hot DAMN it's been a while since an update, eh? Next up: GhostAU Chappie! :^D**

**I most certainly don't own Soul Eater, Vocaloid, or pizza. **

**Now please Enjoy~!**

* * *

"What the shit _is_ Vocaloid?"

"It's an advanced voice synthesizing system that uses human voices as a base to build off of into individual electronically manufactured personas! Soul, I've been saying that since the first time you've asked that question."

"We'll I'm sorry that I can't swallow that crap you've been shoving down my throat."

"It's not my fault your vocabulary expanse can be measured with a yardstick."

"_See_? Can you stop with your nerd jargon and straight up tell me that you're listening to Japanese _robots_ sing?"

"They. Are not. Robots! They have no physical form!"

"They are god damn cyber pop stars and you know it. Just listen to them Maka, they even sound fake."

"You are just an uncultured swine that holds a grudge against electronica and pop. I didn't ask you to steal one of my ear buds, you know!"

Soul pouted, but didn't dislodge the white speaker from his ear. Instead, he chose to casually slide closer to her and withstand the horror that was Japanese pop culture spewing into his ear drums because _someone_ had to teach this woman proper music.

Sipping loudly on his chocolate milkshake, he reached for the shuffle button on Maka's iPod Touch and smirked when he met her halfway there, knowing she would want him to hear more of her cherished guilty pleasure that was Hatsune Miku. She bashfully smiled in thanks and hit shuffle while he finished the rest of his choco-blizzard in nothing resembling moderation. Their hands rested side by side on the food court table, pinkies touching while they pretended to not notice their close contact or the fact that the opposite bench of their table was amazingly unoccupied.

"...This playlist sucks horse shit and you _know it_, Maka."

"Does not." She pinches the back of his unsuspecting hand in retaliation, and Soul bites back a cringe. "If you knew what they were saying, you would understand the meaning of the song and its multiple layers much better. It's quite beautiful, in reality."

"Oh, do enlighten me, professor."

With a warning twitch of her nose, Maka continued. "The songs about an angel who falls in love with a mortal girl, however the angel is female. She cannot bring the girl she fancies to love her, so she makes a deal with the devil to become a boy and pursue her love again. In doing so, she has fallen from God's grace and is no longer an angel. But the _really_ interesting part is that–"

And thus she animatedly explained the metaphorical struggle between love and lust while it played into Soul's ear and out of the other, the equivalent of a hollow breeze, if not less. It's not like _he _could speak, let alone understand Japanese; that skill was under Maka's long list of useless things to offer the world. All Soul wanted to do was look at the strange creature that was Maka Albarn emerge from her prim and proper shell and morph into this excited, passionate, _music lover_, who didn't care in the least that her voice was the loudest in the semi-filled cafeteria. It became a fond hobby of his when he spotted her a week ago dancing with a mop after hours to her headphones, Death Hut's lighting being her sole spotlight in the midnight-darkened mall. Some Maka-chops and a good laugh later they began to share their musical tastes with one another, switching turns every other day, and sadly, this day was hers.

_Whatever sick demon that had the balls to crawl from the depths of hell and introduce the atrocity of robo-jpop into this world has a reservation for my boot up his ass_, Soul internally simmered.

_But_... He gazed to Maka, still reciting her interpretations in vain just inches from his face, smiling at her blind adoration for something _just as geeky as her_, Soul continued.

_If it makes her act like such a dweeb, I guess it's not all that bad_.

"—and that's why there's a sequel song! I have it here somewhere, hold on."

"_Okay_, I get it Muffin— it's a great love story with a tragic ending and a last minute twist. What else hasn't changed in the basic structure of romance?"

Not taking to his snarky tone, Maka turned around and was about to knock some sense into his dense skull until said dense skull was right in front of her. She stopped as if put on pause by some magic remote control, and couldn't help but notice that Soul wasn't moving away either. That and his eyebrows were the same shade of moonlight as his hair was. Did anyone ever notice that? It was all Maka could think of now.

"I take it I either look hot as hell right now or there's a huge spider on my face," he joked, his warm breath ghosting her cheeks.

Orbs of jade faltering, her eyes lowered abruptly to the iPod in her hands and she pretended they weren't slightly shaking.

"I-It's enormous," she managed to choke out in retribution, "and I hope it's poisonous too."

"Ah, just my luck then."

A month ago his face would've gotten intimate with her hardback Webster's Dictionary if he ever pulled something so...ludicrous. She knew he liked to joke, because they often did during their Pizzeria shifts together. Naturally, they both liked to out-bastard each other as sport; it was _fun_.

But this wasn't what Maka would term as...fun. For some reason, whenever he would tease her so, her stomach would lodge in her throat and she couldn't stop staring at his tanned Adam's apple, his firm chin, his inky, scarlet gaze.

Soul had to admit too, he didn't know what the shit he was doing. All he knew was that she shut up for ten seconds and managed to look orphan-kitten-in-a-pink-tutu-adorable at the same time, and God help him if he said he didn't like it. Or love it.

Green met red, breath met breath, and Maka's iPod screen was getting a tad foggy from their gradually lessening proximity. Was that hesitance Soul saw reflecting in her eyes, or was it her planning on giving the mother of all upper-cuts when she finally came to? Probably a little bit of both.

Jesus, their sense of humor was fucked up.

The way she paused halfway through a guitar riff was not funny in the least, nor was the way that his thumb met hers as they both pressed down. There their hands lay still and unsure, and if anyone laughed, Soul would've stood up and punched out the _smile_ from _their sorry jaw_ because he seriously could not breathe.

It was just bookworm. Just this sassy little tiny-tits who preferred pigtails and sweater vests over anything Vouge had to say. She liked reading more than breathing, listened to bubblegum crap from Asia and dared to enjoy it, and had a crinkle in her left eye when she laughed and meant it.

Which he managed to bring out. A lot.

And she was glad he did, because she _really_ missed laughing.

Because they were joking, right?

"...I thought you wanted to listen to your sequel thingie."

"You looked tired. Thought that would be enough, since you listened for so long– I mean, yeah."

_Right_?

"ALLLLRIGHT~! Break Time is officially OVER. Get your asses back to your minimum wage torture or so help me I will set Patti loose on your scent trails!"

~O~

"I still don't quite understand," Maka grit out, hauling the rest of the restaurant's back-up pepperoni supply into the freezer with a final toss. "You guys hang out for basketball rounds, a smoke or two, I get it. But this– it's just being a doormat."

Rubbing his sore knuckles, Soul closed the door to-might as well be freakin' Mount Everest-with relief and made his way to the sink; at some point he wanted to not smell like a well-seasoned slaughterhouse. "'M _not_ a doormat, Maka. Just patient is all. Maybe you could take some notes and learn a thing or three."

"Like what? How to be an enabler?"

"No, it's how to not be a priss with a thorn stuck in her butt."

An indignant scoff sounded between them, and he could hear her stomp off and wipe her hands angrily against her likely ruffled apron, getting ready for register duty. Playfully smiling, Soul prepped for taking his friend's shift (again– it was the third time that week according to Attendance Sheriff Maka Albarn) as the mall's rush hour was peeking in the distance. However he didn't mind and you couldn't blame him. Sure, Star was obnoxious, and loud with a narcissistic attitude to boot, but he was never mean hearted. There in his ego-swelled soul was kindness and a contagious earnestness that couldn't help but be admired; Soul knew Star did a lot of the admiring himself.

Besides, it would've been impossible to keep that monkey in a single place for more than fifteen minutes anyways, even with the promise of a check at the end of each month. Soul thought the workload wasn't too bad either, two jobs not breaking any sweat over _his_ brow. All there was to do was disinfect tables, make smiley faces on pizzas with mushrooms–

"Shit–! Oi Maka, watch where you're freakin' throwing!"

"Sorry Soul, I could've sworn that napkin dispenser was clear across the counter."

-and try to survive the pigtailed nightmare that was his fellow classmate/co-worker. Though, she did make a nice dance partner. If only she could take his hopeless buddy Black*Star in stride as well as she did her waltz.

Never mind her dance moves, he mulled. If her rhythm or anger management was as steady as her aim with aero dynamic household objects, she wouldn't need his lessons in the first place.

Disgruntled, Soul walked away from the dented dispenser and flurry of napkins on the floor (likely leaving her to clean it up, like the purposely oblivious jerk he was), Maka gave a curl of her out-sticking tongue as a sign of victory and patted the old register. As she saw a group of laughing middle schoolers enter the food court, she mentally coaxed _just another day, old girl_, reassuring the dinosaur calculator. She prayed it wouldn't die on her yet, lest whatever divine being lounging in the stratosphere let Soul laugh 'till his stupid(ly handsome) face turned blue at her with a hundred customers up front and a cash register in flames with its screen blown off as well as the money inside of it.

Those middle schoolers called over another group of preteen friends, and next thing she and Soul knew, a dozen eighth graders wanted two extra-large Hawaiian pizzas and enough root beer to supply their own mini-river. Oh, how they _loved_ being Friday night party suppliers.

She adjusted her frilled apron, which to Maka's ire was horridly stained from pepperoni by-product and grease, and punched in their gargantuan order while exclaiming it right back to Liz and Patti in the back. Let _them_ haul out the army's entire food supply; she'd worked her ass of the whole day as it was. Lifting heavy meats with Soul in a tank top, arms bare, with those tan, chiseled veins showing the right amount of exertion he was asserting was draining. Especially when he would slightly throw it and catch it again as readjustment, and how his finely trained muscles tensed sharply when he caught the falling package in all its girth. It was horribly back-breaking. _Really_.

Oh, right. Their change.

"Thank you, your order should arrive in thirty minutes or so!"

And with happy smiles and a few exultations of thanks, the group of oversized Nikes and braces left to kill time around the stores while Death Hut prepared their weekend's buffet.

Well, at least she didn't sound as pathetic as she did in her head.

"What kind of pathetic we talkin' about here?"

Maka did an excellent imitation of a suffocating goldfish while Soul Evans managed to perfect the art of appearing from thin air. She couldn't tell if he read her mind or if she was thinking aloud again, but he was so close that he was breathing lightly on the back of her neck, giving her skin-crawling goose bumps that she could easily relate to her jump-scare, so Maka let it go unsaid.

"Christ Soul– I think my heart stopped beating! The hell do you want?"

She lied through her teeth. With her heart actually beating in time _with that of a hummingbird on speed_, her "ghostly white" face of shock was flushed red.

Soul caught onto her too fast for Maka's comfort, as he smirked and replied, "'M bored. Thought since you used up all the dangerous projectiles around here it'd be safer around you."

He still hadn't stepped back, and they were in the same position as that day before on their break, listening to their music. Damnit, she was supposed to be rock solid, not made of granite and reduced to some immobile statue of nerves!

A few months ago, she would've dislocated his jaw.

A few months ago, he would've backed away ten feet and taken a thorough shower.

A few months ago, she didn't know he would get on his knees and help her wipe the crusty tile floor of this pizza joint, or call Liz at midnight to drive her home to her worrying Papa, bawling at the front door in his outrageous rubber ducky flannels. Soul would have never taken the time to notice how Maka was inspired to try out for volleyball when she saw him beat a slack-jawed Black*Star with a shot clear across the park's basketball court (though she admits it was mostly out of her competitive nature, she did find him a little inspiring). Nor would Maka have guessed that during their ninth grade English class's Secret Santa Party that her favorite knee socks she wore to practice came from Soul himself. It was a safe route back then, cause who_didn't_ expect socks on Christmas? He dodged the bullet already, but decided to go an extra few miles and purchase long, fashionable ones, hearing volleyball players liked to wear them. She should have known, the black and red stripes should have given his taste away years ago.

But this was now. And now, Soul was resting his chin on her shoulder, slouching even more than he usually did from their height difference, and Maka was rubbing one black and red striped calf against her other matching one in nervous excitement.

_Excitement_. Can you fucking believe it?

"You have a pizza to make, you know."

"The Thompsons got this, Albarn. _We _were the sorry asses that hauled dead cow this morning, so take it as a free pass."

"The only slip you'll be getting is a _pink _one, when Kidd– _M__anager_, finds out we're not-!"

"Over-exerting ourselves," he finished cooly, his head bouncing funnily as his lower jaw didn't move on her shoulder, leaving the rest of his skull to bob up and down in reaction. Maka thought of a muppet Soul, and smiled bemusedly when he continued. "And he'll let us have this one, pigtails! You know why?"

Rolling mossy green eyes, she humored him. "_Why_, dare I ask?"

A sharp set of teeth greeted her from his smirk, and not but inches away. Soul gently took an arm in each of his (large, in comparison!) hands and shook her once with each enunciated line.

"Because _we_. Are the _best_ team. This Death Hut has _Ever_. _Seen_."

The second eye-roll definitely couldn't mask the lift in Maka's cheeks, because Soul was spouting his stupidly endearing persuasion gigs, and she was buying it.

Again.

"I'll give you _this_," she offered, spinning around to look at the goofy shark-bear face to face. With a confident poke to his chest, she offered, "I'll get the dough out if you bring out two rolling pins, and we can start twirling some dough for tomorrow's supply."

Because Soul fucking loved that part of the pizza making process the best, and Maka Albarn was painfully aware of it. He also loved button noses and faint freckles on her rosy cheeks, but he decided to keep that in the classified section of his speech records.

God dammit, where were those rolling pins?

~O~

Another week rolled past, with Liz spilling her nail polish in the pizza sauce, Patti _using_ that pizza sauce for unfortunate customers to consume, and their Manager "Kidd" scolding the both of them on how Liz didn't distribute exactly one-eighth of her final coat into the tomato spread and why Patti allowed her to do so while Maka and Soul argued about Asian pop culture and politics somewhere in the background. Hell was centered in the fiery ovens of Shibusen Mall's Death Hut, but the residents didn't seem to mind. After all, there was an end to each day, and a check for every limb lost.

Maka swung her locker shut, readjusting her hoodie before she started her quarter mile trek back home. It was around four o'clock in the evening, if you could _call_ it evening yet, so that meant her bumbling Papa wouldn't be having heart palpitations from worrying about late night drive-by shootings when she arrived home.

She sighed, and gave a bland "see you" to the twins, who got stuck with the late shift that day. Too tired from not doing anything progressive at their job, they dutifully groaned a farewell and continued their game of "who can stare at that lightbulb until they go blind the longest first".

Before she could wonder if she was the only person at their pizzeria who actually _worked_ for pay, Soul appeared, leaning on a food court chair as she opened the "Employee's Only" door, listening on his crappy ear buds to something Maka couldn't make out yet.

"Hey."

"Sup. Ready to roll?"

"As I'll ever be, I guess."

Soul gave a curl of his lip as he slid from his slouch and into a leisurely walk beside her, making their way to the mall's front entrance to walk home for the fifteenth time that month. Maka couldn't give you an explanation of why she kept count, it just became a habit. It was sort of the equivalent of studying an endangered species; she just had to remember. It might not happen again.

The other party, on the other hand, begged to fucking differ. Like hell he would stop escorting her to her house; cool guys were gentlemen, and gentlemen always walked ladies to and from their destinations. It was inscribed on his moral, a code to his soul. Just like walking on the street-facing side of the sidewalk, and not hitting back, even if a girl _threatens to lodge an entire encyclopedia set in your skull_. Gentlemen were _gentle_, after all. Especially to girls who deserved it.

"Did you study for–"

"Come on Muffin, please don't start a conversation with a question about studying."

"You didn't even let me finish, though! It's important-!"

"Like I said, not cool at all. Maka, you're going to get a tumor from all the excess information you're storing in your giant-ass head."

"Well yours is going to deflate from malnutrition! _Pick up a book and try to absorb something for once_!"

"Oi, OI. Watch where you swing that thing— DAMMIT!"

He rubbed his head in a pout, and soured when he saw her return her pocket dictionary (pocket dictionary? Come _on_, Maka) to her satchel and continue to stroll down Shibusen Mall's enormous parking lot with a spring in her step and a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

Just walking down the main drag of the parking lot, so close their hands were an inch from swinging into each other, the two enjoyed another walk back from work. A sherbet sky dripped its mellow orange onto Maka's hair, making a sort of halo around the light-as-wheat locks, and she chose that moment to look at him in that goofy smile that meant she was somewhat regretting hitting him, though he deserved that one.

Because she was forgiving today.

Soul chose this moment to spontaneously ruffle her pigtails until one came at least halfway undone, and moved to cup one side of her head and gently bring her to bump with his own. Not really processing what he was doing, he let his poorly expressed mix of emotions roll. That action couldn't even begin to show how much he wanted to be around her, to give her reasons to get spitting mad at one minute and reconciled the next, to show her how beautiful her eyes of liquid jade that would harden into granite one moment and melt the next were.

He wished he was eloquent enough to write her a whole novel about how she was perfectly imperfect.

Though Maka stuttered about the sudden burst of affection Soul would not relent, fingers locked onto the nape of her neck. His mind was blank, yet going one hundred miles a minute.

What the hell was he doing?

Why had Maka not pounded his sorry face into the sidewalk yet?

Man, her skin felt soft.

And it wasn't like Maka was doing any better, what with this aggravating man pulling her leg one too many times (often times her allowing it to happen, because she admitted, she was a masochist too) that she couldn't say for sure that this wasn't a joke. Sure, Soul flirted. But it was always play-flirting; it usually ended with a jab to her plainness, her fat ankles, and her boobs that could still fit into her eighth grade bras. Bittersweet play, it was.

Much to her growing anxiousness and heart rate, she didn't feel the bitter yet.

"So," Soul drawled as cooly as his tingling spine would let him, "I've never seen you play."

"Volleyball?"

"No, extreme double-dutch."

Flicking his head but not making any other move, she cleared her throat and answered a shy, "You hate rallies and attending school stuff. Of course you wouldn't have."

"Well, I want to now. When's your newest game scheduled for?"

"The uh, next Thursday of this month."

"Cool." His fingers absently scratched at the nape of her neck, and Maka started to get used to the side of his head leaning against hers as they continued to walk out of the parking lot. Dare she say, she was _liking_ it, a lot. Lord knows how many times she had been guiltily fantasizing about how it would feel.

Stopping as a blue Prius drove across the crosswalk they were paused at, they leaned into each other as the evening milked the lilting gold from the sky. Unanswered questions hung in the air, and the Prius had long since left for the interstate.

"I..."

"Yeah?"

"Practice! I-um. My next practice is tomorrow, after school. So it's sooner."

"Oh." He bit his lip, and swore himself to the grave if this ended anything like a squeaky sixth grader asking her out on their first dance. "I'm off that day too."

Yep, might as well give him a wedgie and steal his Power Ranger's lunch box.

"So, you don't mind?"

"What?" His question hung off, confused from being brought out of his self-loathing.

"Missing out on your day to watch me practice my serves, I mean. You must be pretty bored, huh?"

It ended half-jokingly, but Soul could detect the self-consciousness laced with her words. She was nervous too.

"Maka," he concluded, sliding his hand from her neck to her back, guiding her across the empty street as he spoke, "How come I always have to be bored out of my mind to see you?"

Judging by the flat look she gave him, although the feel of his warm palm on her back was a pleasant sensation, Soul remembered what he said earlier that week.

Groaning internally, he assured, "That's not what I meant, and you know that._Yes you do_ and don't start up your fifteen minute long speeches with me. Okay, long story short— I wanna see you play. I'm serious! I've always wanted to know if you're as good as Black*Star says you are—"

"Wait a second. Black*Star said what?"

Soul gave a smirk at her calculating look. "He bags a lot on your volleyball, says that he's too good for it and stuff. 'IT HAS TOO MUCH WOMEN IN IT, I MIGHT LOSE MY MASCULINITY IF I TRY TO WHOOP THEIR MORTAL ASSES AND SHOW THEM HOW A REAL MAN PLAYS'. But if I know Star, if he doesn't want to physically show you up, it's more out of humility. Maka, he's _afraid_ to play against you. He thinks you're one of the best players in the school."

A small breeze passed between them, and Maka didn't know how Soul's hand got down to her lower back, slowly pushing her to walk with him to the other side of the crosswalk. She let the cool wind comb through her halfway undone pigtails, and counted the steps she took as she tried to process his words. Surely it wasn't this growing ball of _guilt_ that was weighing down her stomach.

"...Was he honest?"

"And believe it or not, he was sober too." They were only halfway across the street at their distracted pace. Silence ensued, so Soul took it as his cue to continue. "I know Star isn't your jar of honey, 'cause I know he isn't mine, but he has his good points. One is acknowledging a great athlete. And person."

Acknowledging and dirty-talking were two very different terms to Maka, but still she couldn't quite wrap her mind around that babbling idiot having even a sliver of respect for her. Soul could have come up to her in a chicken costume and proceeded to do the Macarena and she would have been less caught off guard than she was now. Was there a tear in the fabric of the universe or were Soul's dexterous pianist hands too warm on her back?

She couldn't believe what she was about to say.

"Well...invite him then if you want. I don't see why he can't come."

Nope. Still wasn't buying it.

"Sure, I'll see if he's free." Finally, they reached the opposite curb, hopping onto the sidewalk and unsure of how to de-tangle from their half-hug. That being if they were sure the chilling air of an oncoming night was worth forsaking their shared body heat (heat from _where_, neither would specify).

And in the warmth of the sunset, their embrace, and a suffocating embarrassment, Soul got out his cellphone and made a call to a certain blue monkey while Maka walked alongside and tried to convince herself that tomorrow was most certainly _not_ a date.

* * *

**Now we know where those socks came from! At first I thought Maka bought them from the fiery depths of hell at one of Satan's yard sales, but this makes more sense. PLEASE REMEMBER TO R&R MY HOME SLICES!**


End file.
